| Please Hold |
[11 Sep 2007|02:24am] |
“Hello, and welcome to Viva Communications! To continue in English, please press one.”
*Beep*
“Please listen carefully to the following options, as our menu has changed. For billing, say ‘billing’ or press one. To report a problem with your cable, say ‘cable’ or press two. To report a problem with your phone, say ‘telephone’ or press three. To report a problem with your internet connection, say ‘internet’ or press four.”
*Beep*
“Okay. Please hold while we connect your call.”
*Soft Music*
The Woodlawn cemetery was dead.
Rhiannon cradled her cell phone against her ear. The sharp edge of a headstone cut into her thighs. Since it was the only seating nearby, she had to grin and bear it. Just under her boots, the freshly turned earth indicated that the Slayer had gotten a tip and now waited for a vampire to rise. But it was nearly eleven o’clock and not so much as a finger had poked out of that grave. Her shoes beat a light rhythm against the headstone.
“We are experiencing heavy call volume. We appreciate your patience. Your business is important to us! Please continue to hold.”
Rhiannon mumbled, “What else am I gonna do?” and stretched out her hands. She studied her fingernails, long and painted dark, but chipped. She chewed an irregular corner.
Something told Logan that London would be calling shortly, and they’d probably be mad at him. Or cross, if he chose to use their vernacular.
So sad that patrolling a cemetery in search for vampires constituted an escape for Logan. He sighed, scratching his cheek as he clutched a stake in his other hand. Dammit, he thought with a shake of his head. He forgot to shave again.
Meanwhile, the muzak oozing into Rhiannon’s ear was putting her into a coma. She contemplated taking a graceful fall on her back and waiting for the vampire like that. Her ponderings were interrupted by a voice on the other end of the line.
“Hello. Thank you for continuing to hold. At Viva Communications, we know that our continued success depends on the satisfaction of our customers. That’s why we care so much! Please continue to hold. A representative will be with you shortly.”
Rhiannon rolled her eyes and shifted to straddle the headstone. If memory served, this vampire could be up and maiming before a customer service rep got anywhere near her spot in line. For the better part of a week, she’d been trying to get online. She bought the computer used at a pawn shop. No doubt the thing was stolen, but she wasn’t in the monetary position to be picky or remorseful. Now it was just a battle to get the loft a decent signal, one that didn’t drop every time she shifted on the couch cushion.
For lack of anything better to do, Rhiannon put the cell phone on speaker and set it down. She caught her arms overhead and stretched. A lot. It was to keep her fingers busy, to fight the powerful urge for a cigarette. The Slayer never realized it, but smoking was more than an addiction and a social crutch. The damn things were entertainment. She craned her neck and looked for company that might be coming from another hole in the dirt.
Catching sight of a figure in one of the darker corners of the cemetery, Logan grabbed his stake a little tighter, careful not to make too much noise with his footsteps as he crept toward the figure in question. The closer he got, he noticed a female straddling a headstone, an open cell phone sitting on top of it. He squinted, still keeping his distance, not seeing any of the tell-tale vampire signs.
Then again, Logan was merely human and there were no fangs present and no sun to burst the creatures into flames, so he really couldn’t say for sure. Vampire detection was his weakest subject in the Academy, after all. Noting how the dirt under the headstone was fresh, Logan decided she was waiting for a vampire to rise. Which probably meant she was a Slayer.
Most importantly, a Slayer not behind bars. “Hope the guy down there isn’t one you put there,” Logan deadpanned as he carefully approached the headstone. “Kinda had my fill of murderous Slayers today.”
( Pardon Me? )
( Your Call Will Be Answered In The Order It Was Received )
( His Sunny Disposition )
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| Roomies |
[11 Sep 2007|09:29pm] |
Done with a successful shopping trip to acquire the clothes she needed to impersonate a teacher, Leah parked in front of her garage and walked to the front door with a spring in her step.
The clothes were bland, true, but they were camouflage meant to disguise her true nature and blend in with the other adults. The goal was to look like an eager young teacher fresh out of college and ready to shape young minds.
It wasn't far from the truth, really, if a person looked at it from her point of view. She did want to shape young minds, just not in the way people expected. If all went according to plan she would end up with a small group of worshippers who would grow up to be movers and shakers in Las Vegas, perhaps further.
Who knew where the future would lead if everything worked perfectly?
“Why does everything suuuuuuck?!”
Star groaned and let her body roll off the couch. She thudded on the floor. A local tabloid’s pages crumpled under her weight. “Fuck fuck fuck,” she whimpered and covered her head with her hands. If the rule of three was true and not just some garbage cooked up by her religion, then Star must’ve done some serious damage in recent years. Absolutely all that could go wrong for her seemed to.
The newest catastro-fuck? A picture of some drag queen with her face superimposed on his body. Headline: ‘Star’s Secret Revealed! Ruined Vegas ‘It’ Girl Comes ‘Out’!’ Whoever the hell Ernesto Tomlin was, he needed not only a serious ass kicking, but a better set of falsies.
“Kill me.” Star banged her forehead on the carpet.
"Now what?" Leah asked rhetorically as she found her roommate prostrate and banging her head on the floor.
Star had been going through a rough patch lately, Leah knew that. She felt sympathetic toward her friend which was why the hybrid had offered the spare bedroom to the wiccan, but sometimes Leah felt Star needed a good kick in the ass.
Her life had been turned upside down when she'd agreed to do that job for Simon the year before, but she'd landed on her feet and things had only improved since. Granted, she'd nearly become a sex slave to a demon lord in an alternate dimension around Thanksgiving, but Leah tried not to think about that particular event.
The hybrid pulled the aforementioned tabloid out from under her friend and snorted when she saw the picture and caption. "He needs to get a boob job if he wants to pass for you."
Star flopped on her back. “Oh sure. Don’t even mention his giant bulge.” She snatched the tabloid back for one last look. It was just as horrifying the second time, so it was bound for the waste basket. She aimed, tossed, and missed. “God I can’t wait for this investigation to blow over so they’ll leave me alone and I can buy some shoes.”
She pouted for ten seconds more and then focused on Leah. At that angle, she was practically staring up her roommate’s skirt. “What’re you up to?” Across the room, shopping bags loomed. Star smelled retail items. Eau de Banana Republic.
( On Shoes and Maintenance Men )
[Thread: Open to Leah]
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| Foundations |
[11 Sep 2007|09:46pm] |
It’s not enough just to make an effort. The mind must be right. The motivation must be right. The aim must be right. All these things must be aligned together.
This was how Tyler had been raised. Proper practice was the key element in achieving a tranquil mind. It was one of the gateways to understanding the world as it truly is.
For three days, he had been wandering around Lake Mohave, trying his hardest to concentrate and focus while waiting for his father’s friend to show up. It was not going well, to say the least. Tyler doubted the necessity for him to even be there. After all, sitting here and doing nothing was not going to harm the hoards of evil that seemed to have a backstage pass to Las Vegas. Still, Tyler sat, frustrated, and tried not to think to hard about the fact that he very well could starve to death if something didn’t change, and soon.
Tyler had sat, trying to count his breath and keep his mind clear to no avail, when he decided that this was pointless. He opened his eyes, determining to head back to the city ASAP, when he sucked his breath in, surprised. Before him stood a rather strange sight; an elderly gentlemen with an unruly beard stood before him, his wild grin matched the look in his eye. He wore clothing that was somewhat tattered at the seems: a red plaid short-sleeved shirt, and grungy looking green workpants. His feet were covered by hard looking leather boots, and in his right hand he held a shotgun. The gun was the only thing that seemed to be in good condition.
“You have to be Traslin,” Tyler muttered, rising to his feet. His arm brushed the fallen hair away from his face. Behind the hair, his mind raced with thoughts. Ty extended his hand. “I’m Tyler. How did you find me?”
The old man shifted the gun to the other hand, leaning on the gun as if it served for a makeshift cane. His handshake was brief, but firm. “Joey Traslin,” he said warmly, by way of introduction.
For the moments that their hands touched, time itself seemed to slow down around Tyler. Not that he moved slower himself. It was as if he had been riding a rushing river for his entire life till that moment, and suddenly he had attached himself to something stationary. His eyes were opened, in those fluttering seconds, to a new world. It was full of sound, movement, and knowledge that had never before presented itself to Tyler.
It was quiet a lot to take in so quickly, and within the twinkling of an eye it was gone again.
( learning )
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| "Will you accept the charge(s)?" |
[11 Sep 2007|09:48pm] |
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( It's for you )
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